Dragons & Butterflies: Sentenced to Die, Choosing to Live (100 page)

Since the start of the floods, water and food supplies had dwindled. Fortunately I had managed to stock up and to secure a lot more drinking water. The atmosphere in the prison was one of apprehension. Some days there was no food delivered, and our other orders were incomplete. There was another mass exodus of evacuees one morning, 300 prisoners in total, and not because of the floodwaters, but because of the shortage of food. We were right to be worried: no food deliveries could reach us. To make sure we didn’t starve and to avoid a possible riot, the Department of Corrections took the decision to relocate prisoners instead. As no one was allowed to take his personal possessions, we assumed this was a temporary measure until things returned to normal.

My breakfast that morning consisted of two almonds, one date and a small carton of soy milk. I still had some cans of pilchards in tomato sauce, a can of tuna and a bag of oats, but I was trying to ration myself. I had also saved a small loaf of raisin bread that I planned to eat for Shabbos.

We were now down to 400 prisoners and I suspected we might be moved upstairs in the event that the floodwaters began to seep into the prison. Bangkok was built on marshland, after all, and water would rise up through the ground. Walls and barricades would not prevent the prison from flooding. I kept having visions of the rising water filling up my cell, with me standing on the television. There was an eerie stillness about the place, with none of the usual hum and buzz of muffled conversations.

I decided to put in a second request to be let out of solitary confinement. I’ve never been a pessimistic person, but, as things stood, I somehow couldn’t envisage the King being in the mood to celebrate his birthday in December when almost his entire kingdom was under water. It was very possible that we would not get an amnesty, but I kept that thought to myself.

The days passed slowly, and every few days more prisoners were relocated, until only 270 inmates remained in Building 2. For a while, things looked like they were getting back to normal, and we were told that we could start placing our regular food orders once again. These came intermittently, however, and the flooding continued to disrupt supplies. I was thankful, at least, that I had a dry floor to sleep on and a roof over my head, compared to some of the misery I watched on TV. It was ironic, when you think about it: prison seemed like not a bad place to be.

In November, we heard that half of Bangkwang prison had also been evacuated and that the rest were expect to be moved soon. I couldn’t help wondering anxiously about the possessions I still had there, mainly photographs and letters. Then we heard that the floodwaters had reached the outside walls of Klong Prem and that the water was at knee height. Chatuchak, the district where Klong Prem prison is situated, was declared a high-alert risk area, and some of the guards began wearing gumboots. Those inmates who were evacuated had left all their personal belongings in their cells, and almost every day the guys in my section would ask the key-boy to unlock these cells so that they could pilfer whatever they could. I was quite relieved I was still there, only imagining how quickly my things would have disappeared. After more than six months in solitary, I had accumulated quite a lot of possessions. I was really shocked at the behaviour of some of the Thais who were with me in solitary. They displayed no consideration for others, and did not respect the property of even their fellow prisoners. Beds disappeared, as did toiletries and any foodstuffs they found lying around.

Meanwhile, my friend Porcupine, whose real name I had discovered was Turkit Junsaung, was still being put through a vigorous exercise session every day. I had to admire the man; at 55, his endurance levels were remarkably high.

When I first arrived in Klong Prem and was placed in solitary confinement, I received a letter from an ex-King Davidian, Ian M, who was at least eight years my junior. When he heard of my plight, he offered to help me with whatever I needed. After assuring him that all my needs were provided for, and thanking him for his offer, I did suggest that there was one thing he might do: this was to contact my sister and to be of moral support to her, as I knew she was struggling emotionally. Ian came through for Joan, and he and his family developed a strong friendship with mine. Through a friend in Israel, he arranged a prayer from a prominent Kabbalah rabbi, a prayer that I would have to repeat ten times a day. It went like this:

Master of the Universe who can do everything, (release) and redeem Eleazer Ben Katelyn like the blink of an eye, immediately in the merit of the Tzaddik, the foundation of the world. In the same way you released Daniel from the Lion’s den, so too, release Eleazer Ben Katelyn immediately (in the blink of an eye). And then we will thank you with song and music and rejoicing of thanks and joy.

I wondered what makes a man do something so great for another man he barely knows, never judging or condemning, and I reached the conclusion that such men are messengers of
Hashem
.

I said this prayer five times in the morning and five times in the evening as part of my morning and evening prayer ritual, after reading from the Book of Psalms. I never thought or believed that, through this prayer, I would be physically released from prison. Instead, I understood that the prayer was part of something far more profound. It wasn’t clear yet what this was, but I knew in time I would understand why I’d been told to recite it.

The King of Thailand celebrates his birthday in cycles of 12, so 2011 was a huge occasion and, the natural disaster of the flooding notwithstanding, we anticipated that there would be an amnesty. What we didn’t know was what reduction drug cases would get, although usually we were granted considerably less than offences such as murder, rape or robbery, etc. In Thailand, there was no guarantee of anything. Things changed from day to day; governments were overthrown by the military; the Red Shirts were fighting the Yellow Shirts; and every so often the country teetered on the brink of civil war. And now the flooding had injected more uncertainty. Rumours of an amnesty continued to circulate, however, and gave us a glimmer of hope.

The one Western foreigner left in my section was an Eastern European guy. He was not my best friend, but beggars can’t always be choosers, and so sometimes we would hang out together. He seemed quite knowledgeable about the internet and how you could make money on it. Health products, he told me, and vitamins and the like, were sure money-makers. Everything depended on the volume of traffic you were able to attract to your website. The idea was to outsource all the responsibilities to a network of agents, who would do all the work for you. Talking to him, I realised that this was an area I had no knowledge about, but I felt that it might be exciting to explore it once I was free. It was at times like this that I longed for my freedom. I longed to be part of the progress the world had made over the past 18 years while I had been deprived of my freedom. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how much I had missed and lost. The thought scared me. How would I cope? Would I fit into society? Would people accept me, or would they always stare at me with wary eyes? During these years in prison, I had come to realise that women, particularly, were completely fascinated by me, but was this only because they saw me as wild and dangerous, someone who associated with criminals?

I would have to wait and see. Only time would tell, time forever being the deciding factor.

With 26 days to go to the amnesty, we heard that a first group of prisoners who were to benefit from the amnesty and be eligible for release had been called to have their pictures and fingerprints taken. These were prisoners who had three years and less remaining of their sentences. I, on the other hand, had four and a half – another missed opportunity, this time by only a year, for an earlier release. Bad luck seemed to follow me like my own shadow.

Despite my jogging and playing the occasional game of soccer, my health was still troubling me, and the continued lack of vegetables gave me the most anxiety, especially when it came to my heart. One of my friends in solitary, a Thai baht multi-millionaire, gave me a small cabbage and some green beans one morning. I was quite taken aback, considering that no supplies were coming either in or out of the prison just then. Amazing what you can do with ready cash.

On 11 November, at around 6pm I suffered another severe pain in my chest and collapsed to the concrete floor, where I lay clutching my chest and struggling to breathe. At the same time as I was gasping for air, I broke out in a cold sweat. What was more terrifying to me than the excruciating pain was the fact that I was totally helpless. It’s true what they say: my whole life did flash past me. I thought this must be how somebody feels when they are about to die. I kept saying to G-d that this wasn’t the way it was meant to end.
Surely
this wasn’t the way? I was so close to being released, with only a few more months to go. Oh G-d, I said, this can’t be!

The pain kept getting worse. I was a caged animal, trapped and left to die. I felt myself slipping and sliding, deeper and deeper into darkness. Was I having a heart attack? Fuck, I didn’t know! All I knew for certain was that I didn’t want to die here, alone, in this dreadful place.

How I managed it I don’t know, but I found a large envelope, put it over my face and breathed into it. I breathed in and out for almost an hour before the pain slowly started to subside. While I forced myself to breathe into my makeshift paper bag, I focused my attention on the TV set that was on in my cell. There was a David Attenborough wildlife programme on, in which he was following a school of dolphins in some ocean or other. I remember thinking what a beautiful sight this was, and that if by chance I
should
die, at least I would die smiling. I imagined myself swimming with the dolphins, and this seemed to have a calming effect on me. It helped regulate my breathing until the pain in my chest gradually lessened.

One Sunday morning, a strange thing happened. It was around 9.30 and I was in the spare cell barking the dog – talking to my family, in fact. There was a prisoner who was locked up 24 hours a day, but because he was a diabetic he had to be taken every day to the hospital to get his insulin shot. Because the area around the hospital had been flooded, on this particular morning the insulin was brought to his cell. The commodore who accompanied the medic was notorious for trying to catch prisoners with illegal items. He entered the solitary section looking like a prisioner. Right outside the diabetic prisoner’s cell was another prisoner, fast asleep, with his mobile phone hidden in his pillow. At the precise moment that the guards approached the cell, the light on this guy’s mobile starting flashing, signalling an incoming call, and of course the guard noticed it right away. Talk about bad luck or bad timing. As everyone knew, the punishment for being caught with a mobile was severe. You would be put into these huge chains and locked up for 24 hours a day in solitary for at least six months. No fan in your cell, no TV, no nothing. These guys don’t get to come out at all.

I quickly removed my biscuit from the dog, hid it in my mouth, and then hastily hid the dog under some of the cleaning equipment. Then I went to see what the commotion was about. I must have been as white as a sheet. I immediately saw the mobile in the guard’s hand. Now we would definitely be raided; there would be a complete shakedown of our entire section. The poor guy with the mobile was marched outside, returning later shackled with 10kg chains. Punishment in that place was swift and severe.

The Building Chief punished everyone in our section by confiscating our TV sets and taking away the hour’s walking time in the prison yard. For some unfathomable reason, I was the only person in the entire punishment section who
wasn’t
punished. When the Building Chief made the announcement, I responded by saying, ‘
Pom khun dee
’ (I’m a good person), at which his wingman, Santi, gave me a dirty look and, pointing with two of his fingers at my face, said, ‘I know that you have a mobile.’ I laughed. Because I didn’t have a mobile. I had
access
to a mobile, sure, and the guards knew it. With the amnesty coming up, I was taking great care not to violate any regulation.